The senior Scrolls I : hike of the Sword-Runners

Arngeirr was crouching close to the timberland floor as he skulked along the trail, stalking his fair game. His hands were dirty, mud and moss clung to his Banded iron armor, his long golden blonde hair hung over his face, damp with elbow grease.

He sniffed the air and swivelled around on his feet to face north. He had her sent. Quickly but lightly, he sprinted through the forrest towards Riverwood, making little noise he jumped from a fallen log and climbed a tall oak tree until, halfway up, he rested against a offset. Slowly he drew his fathers antediluvian North Germanic language Bow and readied his steel arrow to strike.

A Stormcloak patrol passed beneath him.

'' hoot you '' he cursed as they moved on and in he length he saw the large cervid he had been stalking prancing away towards the lake.

He slid down the tree after sheathing his weapon and walked towards Riverwood. As the morning wind blew through the trees Arngeirr ran his paw through his golden hair and approached Lake Llinalta. As he broke through the Tree line he breathed deeply inhaling the fresh air, it was so different here than it was in the metropolis, here you could find peace.

As he looked around himself Arngeirr sat down and, bringing his nozzle close to the ground he began to whiff and listen for any wildlife that he might hunt.

He soon caught the odor of a fox and followed it in the instruction of Llinatas oceanic abyss, as he approach the bank he sighed, he hated swimming, he was n't bad at swimming per say, just disliked getting wet, unusual though as he did n't mind getting dirty, sweaty or bloody.

He swam quickly across to the northern cant to head off the Slaughter Pisces the Fishes. Unlike others in Skyrim, the fish would have been their last concern, as for some reason everyone thought that the lake was cursed, no one in the Sword-Runner family believed in nemesis, and they were ALL stubbornly brave beyond reckoning.

Arngeirr advanced slowly and quietly for two cause, he did n't require to lose his prey, and just to his left on top of the pass column of Llinatas deep were two bandit piranha wielding Orcish Battleaxes. Also just behind them was an Apprentice thaumaturge.

As he passed silently by he was blasted forward into the Tree-line by a vast ball of pure blanched light, dazed and confused Arngeirr could see the Necromancer shouting and barking ordering as three Bandit Sagittarius came up and inject arrows at the area as the necromancer shot fireballs at it and the two brigand earlier charged at it wielding their Axes in a blind wrath.

As Arngeirr pulled himself from his stupor and daze he drew his Sky-forge Steel great-sword from his spine and charged at the bandits as the sphere began to shrink inside taking the loose form of a man.

Arngeirr charged as the first bandit, a fellow Nord, turned and charged at Arngeirr clad in hide armour. He swung his axe at Arngeirr 's foreland, Arngeirr ducked, stabbed up into the Nords breast, then spun around drawing the sword from his chest cutting him nearly in two.

Arngeirr stood up straight, his face stained with roue, holding his bloodied great-sword in his in good order hand, his pectus panting as he huffed and puffed, watching as the Orc brigand clad in fur armour charged him in rage.

Mimicking the Orc Arngeirr charged and swung his great-sword with all his might. battle-ax and Great-sword clashed in a spark of Orichulum on Steel.

They pressed each former with all their strength, staring into the orcs brute cheek as it roared in angriness and continued to beseech its blade downwards towards Arngeirrs pass. His strong suit was failing, the orc was winning with its immense cancel physical strength, but Arngeirr was exhilarated by it he loved fighting orcs as they were one of the few backwash who posed a rattling threat to him and a real challenge.

As the axe drew nearer to his head Arngeirr slipped into an unbound craze. He roared out like a cage lion, the nordic battle cry. He pushed up with all his might and sent the orc reeling back onto its arse, its energy now spent as Arngeirr swung his leaf blade down onto its chest, delivering the killing snow, cleaving a gawk hole in the orcs chest.

Arngeirr spun to see a woodelf crouched on a piece of crumbling stone that once was a strut holding up the tugboat, weilding an ebony bow ready to fire her arrow at Arngeirr as a banded iron cloak red-guard wielding dual scimitars advanced on Arngeirr and a Leather clad Khajiit bravo flanked him on his right hand as he faced the tower.

reading himself for fight Arngeirr advanced on the Red-guard and dangle his sword in a wide arc in front of himself. The Red-guard jumped back at the first swipe then as the second came he deflected with his scimitar sending Arngeirrs blade away from him and into the air. The Red-guard slashed at Arngeirrs thigh bringing him to his knees as an Arrow sank into his shoulder. The Khajiit stabbed him in his right hand should also, completely crippling him as Arngeirr felt his life ebbing from him.

Then he felt a swoosh of air as a greenish blur flew by him at the Red-guard was thrown back into the tugboat crumbling paries, an Orcish battle-axe embedded trench in his pectus. Arngeirr watched as the woodelf lowered her bow and stared wide eyed at what she saw, revere engulfing her. Arngeirr simply looked forward at her the whole time as the Necromancer ran forward and tried to raise the corpses to agitate but, the khajiit was sent flying through the air crashing into him, its legs broken. Arngeirr felt a fond paw on his arm pull him up as the warmth spread through his body, a cheering aristocratical lighting engulfing his wound, healing them.

Then a improbable man, of 6ft 5in, dressed in soot black armour, wielding two jet black brand and a great sword, with long swept back golden hairsbreadth and a hefty habitus walked by towards the necromancer and Khajiit. He drove his swords into the necks of his opponents then turned to the woodelf.

'' Do you accede ? '' The man asked in a deep, yet soft and comforting voice to which the elf just nodded repeatedly

She was inadequate, 5ft 3in in peak with longsighted disastrous hair tied back in a pony-tail. Her skin was tanned and her wyes were a deep sparkling super C, she was slight of soma, clearly flexible and agile.

'' Then go inside, gather all that your bandit Quaker slip and bring it out here '' The man ordered as the elf disappeared into the sunken hold

The man walked over to Arngeirr and helped him up

'' Are you alright ? '' The man asked, to which the man nodded in answer

'' What is your name ? ``

'' Arngeirr, and yours ? ''

'' ... Raiden .... ''